Ready In Time
by htdcd
Summary: Sometimes the brain takes a while to process things. Most of the time, there's a good reason for it. And eyewitnesses are notoriously unobservant. With magic, nothing is as it seems. One-shot-ish mild HP/SS pairing. (T) for language and sexual innuendo.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: I would like to credit RaeWhit's __In the Gloaming__ as the inspiration for this piece. That being said, this does not follow the ending or presumed events that would follow from DH, and takes a few other liberties. It is HP/SS but not slashy/graphic. It is rated T (13+) for some language and sexual innuendo. If you are currently reading either "The Journey's Destination" or "The Half-Life Curse," (or both) then you know that means I am currently working on 3 separate pieces. This is not good news for my readers, as it is hard enough to see one plot through to completion, let alone 3 at once. So, be prepared for all three to take a little while to be finished. I promise they will be eventually. There's only 1 story that I started but never intend to finish, and it will never be posted on FF. Anyway, enjoy!_

* * *

**Ready In Time**

One would be hard-pressed to find a dry eye, although that was par for the course as far as funerals went. But this funeral was different. This was the mourning of a hero; a legend; a savior, cut down in the prime of his life. Well, before his life had even really begun.

The speeches were finally over. Minister for Magic, former professors, and mostly people who hadn't really even known him had spewed gallantries about Harry Potter and how he had died a noble death freeing the world from Lord Voldemort's clutches. It seemed as though the only people who hadn't spoken were those closest to him. Hermione, Ron, the rest of the Weasley family, Dean, Seamus, and other Hogwarts classmates had all remained silent, dabbing the corners of their eyes as the hours dragged on.

Finally, it was time to say goodbye. Hermione made her way up with Ron to the casket, gripping his hand with every ounce of her strength. He gripped back, both supporting and needing support as they gazed upon their best friend – the apex of the Golden Trio – for the very last time. He would be buried in Godric's Hollow with his own parents and with Dumbledore's family. Some had thought he should be buried at Hogwarts, or at the Ministry, but thankfully Professor McGonagall had squelched those ideas before they really took hold.

He could have been sleeping. Harry lay in the Holly casket – to match his wand – on the ivory satin pillows. Dressed in his Hogwarts uniform, sans robes, he looked like he might just be taking a quick nap before exams, or maybe tea. But he was too pale, unnaturally white for someone who was used to looking windblown from flying – cheeks red from the wind whipping his face. Just beneath his fringe, barely visible, was the tell-tale scar. Hermione wondered for a brief second where his glasses were, although she chided herself for such a stupid question – Harry wouldn't need glasses where he was going. It made him look almost foreign, though, to be without the round spectacles that were nearly as famous as the scar upon his brow. Hands crossed over his stomach, he held his wand gently, peacefully. Tears blurred her vision as she thought of all the things she wished she could say to him now, things that would never be said. She dragged in a ragged breath as she thought of all the things she wished the three of them could do together, things that would never be done. Ron squeezed her hand and with her free arm she brought her fingers to her eyes and wiped away the moisture, so she could have one final, clear look at her best friend. She forced a smile to her lips as she kissed her fingers and then pressed them to his hand, his cold, stiff hand. As she turned to leave with Ron, she tried as hard as she could to banish the thought plaguing her mind that Harry wasn't dead – couldn't be dead; he would greet them with a bright smile and hugs as soon as they walked through the door of the Burrow. But she shook her head as if to clear out the cobwebs. One thing was certain – she would never see Harry Potter's emerald green eyes sparkle with laughter again.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Hermione awoke with a start. She blinked rapidly, as her eyes adjusted to the blackness in the room. She'd been having this dream for months now, the memory of the funeral dogging her every thought not just during the daytime, but her nights, as well. For a while, she had been unsure of why her subconscious was forcing her to relive the worst day of her life, next to the day she found out her best friend had died at the hands of Lord Voldemort. Finally, though, she had an answer. It had taken her a fair amount of time to figure it out, but now she knew why she was replaying that day over and over in her head. Next to her, Ron snorted in his sleep and turned over clumsily. Careful not to wake him, she got out of bed, slid her feet into the house slippers on the floor, and tiptoed to the door. Shutting it quietly behind her, she made her way downstairs to the kitchen table where she Summoned a quill and paper.

_I know._

_~ H_

She clucked her tongue quietly and their owl appeared, leg outstretched.

"Find him," she whispered to the bird.

She watched the owl fly away and wondered if perhaps she was going mad, after all.

* * *

A few days later, Hermione received a letter with a set of coordinates and instructions to Apparate there at a specific time on a specific date. She hadn't said anything to Ron about it, because she knew he wouldn't approve. Life had gone on after Harry had died during the final battle at Hogwarts. People had taken their NEWTs, gone on to land apprenticeships, and live their lives. She and Ron had gotten engaged and were due to be married by year's end. Ron had seemed in denial about Harry's death for quite some time, refusing to talk about him or even just say his name. It reminded Hermione of when Ron had walked out on them that night in the woods and how they never said his name if they could help it. It would have been funny if it weren't so tragic. She had tried to get him to open up and grieve over his best friend's death, but he kept evading it. She eventually let it drop, knowing he would heal in his own way, and in his own time.

She had her bag packed; she used the one they had stocked full during their time on the run last year, only this time it wasn't full of items she thought would be useful in hunting Horcruxes or fighting dark wizards, but things she might need for normal, daily ablutions for a few days. It was not even light out yet and the morning was chilly with the new fall air. She was outside the flat she and Ron had rented in London near the Leaky Cauldron while they both worked in apprenticeships at the Ministry. She had left Ron a note saying she would be gone for a few days and not to worry; she hadn't woken him to explain because, well, she knew he wouldn't approve. She clutched the small bag against her chest, took a deep breath in and shut her eyes tight, turning on the spot and disappearing with a soft pop into thin air.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Hermione opened her eyes when the suffocating pressure of Apparition had ceased and tried to figure out where she had landed. Apparently, the coordinates had put her in a clearing in some sort of wood. There was a small pond not twenty paces ahead of her, but she did not approach it. Instead, she let out the breath she'd been holding and tried to relax. She knew she hadn't lost her mind, but part of her wondered if she was starting to. She didn't move, but her eyes looked around, seeking the presence of someone else. She pulled out her wand and lit it with a silent Lumos, thinking it might help her see something – anything other than the faint, dark outline of the trees illuminated by the waning moon. Seeing nothing still, she was forced to lower her wand and whisper into the stillness.

"Harry?" Her voice seemed preternaturally loud in the otherwise silent clearing. "Are you here?"

She heard a crack behind her and whirled around in time to see a silhouette advancing from the darkness into the glow created by her lit wand. As the body approached, she was able to make out a half smile on the familiar face in front of her.

"Hullo," he said, with the good grace to look quite sheepish.

She froze, wide eyes plastered on her face. She adjusted her hold on her wand from casual to threatening as she demanded, "Where did you find the sword of Gryffindor in the forest of Dean?"

He looked nonplussed for a fraction of a second, and then his mouth split into a wide grin. "At the bottom of a frozen pond. Ron saved my – Oof!"

Hermione had launched herself onto him, wrapping her arms around him fiercely and crying audibly into his chest. He stumbled backwards and put his arms around her as well, keeping them both upright. He let her finish her emotional catharsis and waited for her to step back and compose herself.

Face still wet, she said with an embarrassed smile, "Hello, Harry."

"'M sorry," he apologized to her, bringing his own wand out and lighting it. "How did you know?"

She shook her head in confusion, as if she couldn't figure out what to say first. "I saw you," she accused, pointing her finger at him. "I saw your body! Hagrid had your body! You were dead! You – you died! I saw you buried; I don't understand," she finally trailed off.

"You saw me pretending to be dead," he corrected. "Voldemort didn't kill me." He paused to see if she would interject. When she didn't he continued. "He thought he did – but he hadn't. When he cast the Killing Curse, it destroyed the last Horcrux." He tapped his forehead. Hermione gasped and brought her hand to her mouth, looking revolted. "And you didn't see me buried."

"I know that _now_," she explained almost angrily. "Your hand," she said, remembering his earlier question. Her eyes flickered down to his right hand. "The scar was missing."

Harry smacked his palm against his forehead. "Damn," he muttered. "I _knew_ we'd forgotten something."

"I'm still," she looked almost pained, "so confused."

Sensing she was on the verge of a breakdown, he managed a warm smile, "I'll explain everything when we get home."

"Home?" she questioned.

"My home," he clarified. "My new home. I don't live in the woods," he chuckled as he surveyed the clearing. "It's right over there, you know," he pointed into the darkness.

Hermione squinted as she tried to see what he was pointing at.

"The pond? Where I found the sword? Where Ron saved my life?"

Hermione's eyes lit up as if she'd forgotten all about the third member of the Trio. "Oh!" she exclaimed, "Ron's going to be so happy! He's been so…lost…ever since you – left."

Harry looked uncomfortable and he rubbed the back of his neck as he mumbled, "You can't tell him."

"What?" She looked genuinely devastated. "Why not?"

"The fewer people who know, the better," he said. "Besides," he continued, "he's not ready."

"You're probably right," she conceded. "Do you think he'll ever figure it out?"

Harry shrugged with a sad smile. "I dunno. Maybe…maybe in time he'll piece it together."

Hermione looked down at the forest floor and shivered slightly.

"Come on, then," Harry put his hand on her shoulder and pressed on brightly, "D'you want to see where I live now?"

Hermione pulled one side of her mouth into a lopsided smile and nodded, "Of course."

Harry took her by the arm and Apparated them out of the clearing, just as the sun was beginning to rise over the horizon.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

_May 2, 1998_

_10:14pm_

"Avada Kedavra!"

Green light shot out of Lord Voldemort's wand as he cast the Killing Curse at Harry Potter. The curse connected squarely with Harry's chest, sending him backwards – his body arcing gracefully as he rose in the air before landing on the ground and rolling to his front from the force of the fall.

"My Lord!" Bellatrix Lestrange screamed.

Voldemort had been thrown to the ground in the same way as Harry, but was shooing away any efforts to help him back to his feet. Once he was up, he ordered Narcissa Malfoy to check to make sure the boy – who hadn't moved an inch – was well and truly dead. Although, he couldn't fathom how Potter could be anything but.

"He is dead," Narcissa confirmed after draping her body over the boy's, feeling his chest for a heartbeat and – apparently – finding none.

Voldemort ordered the half-giant, Hagrid, to carry Harry's lifeless body to the castle, where it would be shown off, to force the rebels into submission.

The walk did not take anywhere near the amount of time it had taken Harry to build up the courage to go face Voldemort and walk to his death.

"Harry!" shrieks of despair and mourning rang through the darkness as one by one, they saw his limp body dangling in Hagrid's arms. There was still resistance, though, and in just a few scant moments, Harry found himself falling out of Hagrid's arms onto the ground. He whipped his invisibility cloak over himself and Apparated away to the location he knew he must be needed.

"Snape!" Harry shouted as he cracked into place on the floor of the Shrieking Shack. It was empty, though, but not bereft of the pools of blood that had flowed from the Potions Master's neck care of the bite from Nagini. Harry looked around for several seconds before he was satisfied Snape wasn't there.

"Kreacher!" Harry shouted again. There was a crack and the ancient elf appeared.

"Yes, Master Harry?" Kreacher bowed slightly as he spoke.

"Kreacher, can you find someone for me?" Harry knew the elf could do it, since he'd found Mundungus Fletcher less than a year prior.

"Yes, Master Harry," the elf answered.

"I need you to find Severus Snape. When you do, I want you to go back to Grimmauld Place – I'll be there – and tell me where he is." Harry glanced at his watch. He figured it would be a while before Kreacher could find the injured (and probably dead, by now) man, and Harry knew he had to get back to the castle to kill Voldemort, now that the evil bastard was mortal again.

"Master Snape has already come to Kreacher, Master Harry; Master Snape came to the Black Household not long before Master Harry calls for Kreacher," the elf stayed in a half-bow, so Harry couldn't see his face clearly.

"What?" Harry blurted out, shocked. "Is he still there? Is he all right?"

"Master Snape is not at Grimmauld Place, Master Harry. Master Snape says, 'Tell the whelp I shall live.'"

Harry suppressed a choked sob of laughter. "All right, Kreacher. You can go back home now. Thank you." And before he had finished the last word, the elf was gone.

Harry went back under his cloak and Apparated back onto the grounds outside of the school – as close as the wards would let him. As he approached the gates, he noticed that it was surprisingly calm, given that he was sure there was a battle waging inside. He walked as quickly as he could up to the front doors of the castle, which were wide open, and he heard the chatter of the surrounding students. From the tidbits he was able to pick up, everything was over. Someone must have cast the Killing Curse at Voldemort and since the Horcruxes were gone, it killed him just like it would have any other person. Except Harry, apparently. He shook his head at the improbability of his situation, smiling as he remembered Dumbledore's conversation with him at King's Cross while he had 'died'.

So he wasn't needed. Wanted, maybe, but not needed. Not right now. Harry felt suddenly sick as he thought about the aftermath of Voldemort's demise. In one blinding flash, he saw what his life would be for the next half century. He wanted to vomit. He turned on the spot and Apparated away to Grimmauld Place.


End file.
